


Ink (An Eternal Midnight Novel)

by VelvetEternity (orphan_account)



Series: Eternal Midnight [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Injuries, Post-Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:49:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/VelvetEternity
Summary: Trapped in a timeless world of ink and paper, Harry finds himself falling in love with the memory of Tom Riddle.(Sorry for the accidental deletion, I merged chapters 1+2)





	Ink (An Eternal Midnight Novel)

**Title: Ink (An Eternal Midnight Novel)**

**Author: VelvetEternity**

**Chapter One: Paper Flowers**

* * *

 

Like all great love stories, theirs starts with a kiss.

\--

_The chamber of secrets is eerie and cold, but the chill setting into Harry's bones and blood is not from the cool air. It's the venom of the basilisk spreading fast through his veins, bringing ice-cold fire through him. Harry knows without certainty he will die here on the cold watery floor of the chamber. No one will be able to come to find them. Harry had the only way in, and now he has condemned his friends to death. Riddle will escape into the world and Harry has no doubt he will seal their way out. There is only one way to prevent that. Harry must defeat him. But how?_

_His head feels heavy and his vision is getting fuzzy. Riddle is still speaking, gloating, but Harry can't hear him over the ringing in his ears. He sees the basilisk fang he'd pulled from his arm, and for a second he debates stabbing the diary with the fang, but he does not know if it would even affect Riddle at all. He's getting dazed, he can barely hold himself up in a sitting position, and he can't waste any strength on what may not work. His fingers dig into the black cover of the diary and he hears a hiss, faint and distorted like he's underwater._

_A hand is suddenly gripping his own around the diary, trying to pry his fingers loose. He tightens his grip stubbornly, and Riddle hisses, hisses again in pain, and Harry realizes maybe the fang wasn't such a bad idea. He breaks the diary out of Riddle's grasp, holding in out of reach, stumbling backward, fighting against the other boy, both taller and stronger even when he isn't weakened by poison. Harry is on his back desperately trying to keep the diary from him, and Riddle is above him now. A plan forms, well a semblance of one anyways, and Harry acts before he can change his mind._

_He reaches up and pulls Riddle's hair until their lips touch. Riddle jerks back, and even with as foggy and dizzy as Harry feels, he can still recognize the shock and confusion written all over his face. Harry feels his mouth move, stumbling over an apology, an excuse, but he can't make out the words he's saying. Riddle gives him a suspicious contemplating look and leans over him again. He whispers something, or maybe he says it but Harry only hears it whispered, Harry can make out the words last request, and then he's being kissed. A cruel biting kind of kiss, as if Riddle is mocking him even now as he's distracted exactly as Harry wants. Triumphant, Harry brings his hand holding the diary around, up over their heads as if he's moving to wrap his arms around him, and slams it down onto Riddle's back._

_Riddle pulls back abrupt, a pained noise, anger painted across his handsome face. His lips are moving, but Harry can't hear the words. His hands are on Harry's throat, tight, and Harry thinks about how he should have just stabbed the diary with the basilisk fang. A light starts shining in the center of Riddle's chest, purple like the lilacs near his primary school, and blindingly bright. Harry recognizes the word he's saying now, even though he can only see his lips moving. He's saying no, and Riddle's face is scared. Harry is glowing purple too, spreading out from his chest, from his heart. There's an odd high pitched sound, like a woman screaming, and everything goes black_.

\--

It's cold, colder than the chamber. The chamber had been chilly, this is the kind of cold midwinter snowstorms brings, the kind of cold that grabs hold of you and refuses to let go. Despite the cold, his body doesn't ache. Harry actually feels rather nice. The usual aches and pains of his body have dissipated, and there's a sort of warmth in his chest, like a low burning fire. Harry wonders if death is supposed to be so peaceful.

"Oh," An unwelcome voice to his left sneers, "You're awake. You've been sleeping for two weeks."

Harry's eyes snap open, and he points his wand at Riddle instantly. Immediately, he realizes he has no clue where he is. He is laying in the center of a crater filled with burnt broken trees stretching out as far as he can see, but it is as if it is a black and white picture. Even he is black and white. The only color he can see for miles out is the blood red of Riddle's eyes. Riddle doesn't even look threatened by Harry's wand, just mildly irritated.

"Is this hell?" He asks. Riddle laughs, but it is a cruel sort of laugh.

"No, you got yourself trapped in my diary like an idiot," Riddle reveals in a bitter sounding voice. "I don't know how you knew to touch me with the diary before I was fully corporeal, or if you even knew it would trap me back inside, but you were clearly not smart enough to realize that you shouldn't have left your essence all over me."

Harry stares blankly at him. "What are you talking about?"

Riddle glares. "You're blood. You got it all over me when you kissed me, not to mention all over my diary."

Riddle is still talking, ranting at him, but Harry is no longer paying attention to his words. The memories flood into his head, no longer foggy and faded. He remembers kissing Riddle. He remembers Riddle jerking away in shock. He remembers the words he said. "Sorry, I just didn't want to die without kissing someone." He remembers Riddle's pitying sneer. "Oh well, how could I deny you your last wish, my little nemesis." He remembers those hands tangled up in his hair, those lips on his, teeth biting into the flesh of his bottom lip.

"-ter! Potter" Riddle shakes him by the shoulder. Harry stares up at him, flushing cherry red, stammering an apology that is immediately cut off by Riddle sticking his hand over his face. "Shut up and stop thinking about it" He hisses. "It's never happening again."

"How'd you know I was thinking about it?" He hisses back, then before Riddle can even think up an answer he adds, "And why are you even here? I'd have left you if it was you who'd fallen asleep."  
"I can't." Riddle glares.

He lifts his hand up and Harry notices a glowing string tied around his left wrist. It's the same color as the light that trapped them in the diary. He follows the string only to realize it is attached to his right wrist. Harry yanks at the string with all his might, but instead of breaking he ends up pulling Riddle down onto the forest floor with him.

"You idiot." Riddle seethes. "This isn't just a decorative string. It's binding our souls together."

Harry blanches and stares at the inconspicuous string in horror and disgust. "Get rid of it." He yells.

"If I could get rid of it," Riddle snarls, "Do you think I'd have waited around for two weeks for your pathetic ass to wake up?"

Harry realizes this is a rather good point. He swears.

"There's only one way to break it," Riddle says. "We need to get out of the diary."

"Then let's get out of here!" Harry grins. He stands and immediately collapses from the searing pain in his ankle. "Ow!"

Riddle snorts. "First of all, your leg is broken." He looks down at his leg, which is bound in cloth and sticks. It's then he notices Riddle isn't wearing his robes, and neither is Harry. He knows one of their robes is being used in a makeshift cast, and he has an oddly warm sneaking suspicion it isn't his. "Second," Riddle continues, ignoring Harry. "It is not exactly easy getting out of here. There is a near endless forest full of terrible beasts and enchantments between us and the ocean of ink, which is also filled with monsters. We will have to cross both to get to the portal, and just hope that someone on the other side has opened their side."

"If it's so bad, how did you survive fifty years trapped in here before Ginny started writing." Harry retorts.

Riddle smiles, but it is not a nice smile. "I was asleep last time." He says. "Last time, I woke up on the Portal island and simply waited for Ginny to pour all of her secrets into me. Last time, I didn't have to worry about the Ink world, because my purpose was simply to sleep and wait patiently to get out. I was never supposed to come back here. When you shoved me back into the diary, you made sure I failed my one objective. I had no other purpose. Without a reason to be here, this world is not under my control."  
Harry has nothing he can say to that.

A low rumbling roar shakes the ground and rustles the trees overhead. Riddle grabs his hand, pulls him to his feet. "Get on my back now." He commands, urgently. Harry hesitates. "I am not getting eaten because you're being a girl about this, Potter! Get on my back or I will knock you back out and drag you behind me."

Harry clambers awkwardly onto Riddle's back, and Riddle runs. When Harry looks behind him, a creature is on the edge of the crater, an inky blob of horror with seven glowing purple eyes and a mouth of black dripping fangs. It roars again.

\--

In the world of the diary's making, there is no night, no morning, and no way to tell the passage of time. It is always the pale dim grey of dusk. If time passes at all, it passes in a slow agonizing crawl. In the distance the creatures lurk, ominous shambling shadows made of ink and dark magic, slinking between the trees with roars and growls and unholy sounds. In the perpetual twilight of the ink born world, Harry watches as they run ever closer to the cliffs, ever closer to the monsters. He never quite sees the creatures, their shapes are fluid and ever changing. The only constant is the fangs, dripping black, sharp enough to glint in the dim light, and the eyes, purple as the string around their wrists. The color purple becomes something to fear, but brings a form of comfort to Harry in an odd sort of way. Comfort because Tom Riddle may be the man who, in the future, murdered his parents, but he is also the one who has been keeping him alive in this timeless purgatory.

Harry hates having to rely on him. He hates Riddle. He hates the silence even more.

In the silence, the creatures howl and moan, horrible ferocious noises that bring a chill to his bones. Yet they never come any closer. The cater protects them from the creatures, saves them from the horrors of the forest. Harry wishes they could stay, but he knows that they can not. The world is moving on without him outside the diary, and there is no knowing whether time passes in the same speed. Harry doesn't want to be trapped forever with only his mortal enemy as a companion.

He's already having trouble connecting the two, Tom Riddle and Voldemort. Voldemort has always been a monster in his head, a threat lurking around the corner. Voldemort has never been a human entity in any way. Tom Riddle however, is entirely too human. He is cruel, spiteful, andarrogant, but he is also oddly compassionate in a sort of prickly way. Riddle has been exceedingly patient with him so far, carrying him every day as he runs. Harry only asked him about his motives once, Riddle told him to shut up and fuck off. He decided that day never to ask again. Harry is beginning to see Riddle in an odd sort of light now because of his humanity. He respects him, a little, and at the very least trusts that Riddle wont murder him in his sleep.

Riddle is staring at him, Harry can feel his eyes drilling into the back of his skull with laser focus. Riddle has this weirdly intense eyes. Harry never knows what he is thinking, just that every time Riddle looks at him he feels like he's being drowned. Still, Harry turns so he can meet Riddle's blood red gaze. For a moment they both just stare in silence, then Riddle offers his hand.

"Time to move."

\--

The closer they get to the cliffs, the more Harry questions Riddle's motives. Surely if he wanted to kill Harry he would have already at least tried, but at the sane time Harry wonders if he's not trying to drive him to insanity and suicide. He's tired. Riddle lets him sleep for four hours every few nights, sometimes less, but never longer. They walk, or Riddle carries him, for long hours, then Riddle drops him, tells him to sleep, and wakes him with dinner.

Food is also something of an issue. The animals in the crater, in the broken trees and wayward streams, are only somewhat similar to their real world counterparts. Distorted creatures half what they appear, and half something else. Everything tastes of ink, like licking the tip of his quill, sharp and bitter and mingling with the metalic saltiness of blood. The bitter coppery flavor lingers in his mouth for hours after he eats. As they get closer to the forest, the less like actual animals they become. The air becomes foul and humid the farther they go too, and Harry wonders if it is meant to disparage them from continuing.

Riddle drops him unceremoniously to the ground, and Harry bites back a pained sound. His leg is healed enough at this point to be out of the cast, but his leg is still tender. He can not even walk properly on it yet without risking slowing them down immensely, but soon he will have no choice. The jagged slopes of the craters edge are near, a day's walk away if Harry isn't mistaken. The slopes themselves should take anywhere from three days to a week to climb, providing nothing happens to slow their treck.

"Get some sleep Potter." Riddle commands. "I'll wake you when food is ready."  
Harry doesn't protest. They've been on the move for three days without rest and he dared not fall asleep on Riddle's back. He only did that once, and Riddle tied him upside down from a tree and let him hang for three hours while he made and ate dinner. Harry didn't get any.

Harry looks around for a place to sleep, and sees a large boulder with a flattish top that looks perfect for a makeshift bed, certainly better than the ground, which is usually covered in sharp shards of broken trees. Harry lays down on his stomach on the semi-flat rock. It's cold and uncomfortable, but Harry falls asleep in seconds.

\--

Tom Riddle stares at Potter as he sleeps with a frown. He seems so simple at a glance, but Harry Potter is an enigma. He finds the boy endlessly frustrating. Even his hair frustrates Tom, riotous licorice curls falling all over the place and Tom simultaneously wants to tangle his fingers in it and shave it off. Potter has a tendency to stare at him too, always far too intensely for comfort, and sometimes Tom forgets what he's trying to say because he is too busy comparing his green eyes to the green of his slytherin tie. It's irksome. He is pretty sure he's cursed, has been for about four days now, and whatever it is, it has something to do with Potter. Potter turns over in his sleep, and the movement tugs on the bond. Tom glares at his wrist. He's pretty sure the curse has something to do with the soul binding, but he never had the chance to read up on soul binds before he split himself. His memories only go so far.

Sometimes he gets memories, his own but not, but they are always blurry and vague. He knows Potter is a horcrux like him, it is the only explanation for the memories. It was probably formed when he defeated his future self, but Tom is positive the boy doesn't know what he is. Still, he has more important things to worry about than whether or not Potter knows he carried part of Voldemorts soul before he entered the diary and the shard attached to Tom. He's more concerned by the size of the shard. For it to be this small, he would have to have made four other horcruxes, not including himself, before Harry. Six horcruxes. He should be elated to be so close to his goal, but instead ge just feels sick. The book didn't explain the consequences of splitting his soul well enough. When Voldemort made him, he expected to split the half he already made, the diary, into seven pieces and keep a half of his soul intact. Tom was supposed to be the expendable one. It is easy to see why Tom's new memories are so shattered and incomprehensible when he does the math. He had less than 2% of his soul when he went after the Potter Family. It's no wonder he thought a prophecy child could defeat him, no wonder he became so obsessed with it. If Voldemort is still out there, with Potter being a horcrux, Potter is more Voldemort than Voldemort is. That makes Voldemort the expendable one. That said, Tom thinks it is perfectly reasonable if he incorporates all the other horcruxes into himself once he remembers what and where they are, instead of going to Voldemort like his original plan was.

There is a small annoying part of him that feels sort of sour, almost guilty for lack of a better word, about leaving Potter behind in the diary, but the portal will only let one through. He can defeat Potter and rise to power in one fell swoop. The feeling is incredibly inconvenient because he is on the cusp of realizing his dreams, but that feeling hangs a dark cloud over his head and fills his stomach with worms. Of course he has no plans to change his mind about it, but sometimes he wishes there was a way he could bring the annoying brat with him. Obviously he would kill and torture him after letting Potter free, but the future betrayal is weighing on his conscience in an annoyingly persistent way. Tom blames the curse.

Tom flips the fish, well sort of fish-like things, and goes to wake his nemesis. He can deal with the curse later.

\--

The sloped cliff walls of the crater are terrifying up close. Jagged rocks and broken trees stick off the walls, ready to impale them after a single mistake. They tower overhead so high Harry can not see the top, and he gets dizzy just trying. He gulps, and turns his eyes back on Riddle who is currently wrapping his leg tightly in a makeshift splint so it's easier for him to walk.

"When we reach the top," he asks hesitantly, "will the creatures attack?"

Riddle doesn't even try to be reassuring. "Yes."

He ties a knot in the fabric and pulls Harry to his feet. Harry shifts his whole weight onto his leg gingerly and gives Riddle a thumbs up. Harry grabs the branch Riddle gave him two days ago to use as a crutch, and shifts so that the y-shaped section of the branch is under his arm.

"Ready." He grins, then he gestures at the crutch. "I'm not sure how much this will help with the climb though."

Riddle rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot." He scowls. He waves his wand and ropes come down from the top of the crater, looping around the two of them like harnesses.

"Oh." Harry isn't even sure what else to say.

Riddle points to a cliff shelf in the distance. "We'll camp there tonight." He says. Harry doesn't argue with him, because it is the only place he can see that could work for that reason. "If we start now we can get there in about 20 hours."

Riddle does not wait for a response, he simply starts climbing. Harry sighs, adjusts the harness, and starts climbing after him. Not for the first tine, Harry wishes he had just stabbed the diary in the chamber.


End file.
